Slocum and the High-Rails Heiress Read online

  Slocum shuddered and stroked her hair with one hand, while with the other, he unfastened the rest of his longhandles’ buttons. Then he slipped his arms, one at a time, out of them. Her strong hands kneaded the backs of his thighs, drawing him to her, then away, working the opposite direction of her hungry mouth.

  He heard little muffled sounds, like grunts of pleasure, rise from her throat. And it seemed to him she’d been awaiting this for some time. He doubted he was the only guest ever to arouse such raw need in her, but for the moment, such an illusion would do nicely. He was seconds from losing control, and much as she seemed to desire such an outcome, he had other plans for them both.

  He pulled away, slipping free of her mouth. She made a small sound of disappointment, but he kicked off his underwear and guided her to the warm bed. They seemed to melt into it, and once under the covers, she again took command of the situation. As tired as he had been, this aspect of her personality was most welcome. It was as if he were receiving a royal spa treatment. All manner of pleasurable things were occurring to him, and he hardly had to lift a finger. It was all so…relaxing.

  She climbed on top of him, and the feel of her warm body stretched over him roused him from his brief stupor of pleasure. Her mouth sought his, her lips and tongue playing against his in a frenzy. It was as if she didn’t know what to do, but knew she wanted to do a little bit of everything all at once.

  Slocum sought her breasts, each filling a hand, and pinched and rolled the nipples. Her breath left her in a hot rush, ending a slight moan. At the same time, her warm hand closed over him, tickling his sac with her fingertips, and she spread her legs wide over him. He grabbed low on her smooth backside with both hands, helping her, and she dipped her hips to take him in, no teasing or easing into things. This is one girl who knows what she wants, thought Slocum, no thinking, just plain doing.

  She slid straight down on him and they both let out quiet gasps of pleasure. It felt to him just like sinking into a Colorado hot spring, only better. He opened his eyes to see her staring at him, a smile on her face. She sat upright on him for a few seconds, as if she’d just tasted some new drink and were savoring the flavor. As she worked her hips in a slow circle, her smile widened into a look of happy shock. He rubbed his large, calloused palms across her breasts and this seemed to trip some inner switch in the girl.

  He felt himself pulled along in her frenzy and worked hard to keep up, finding he liked it, preferred it sometimes to the slower explorations he’d enjoyed with women twice her age. She leaned low over him, her eyes closed, her hips rising with increasing haste up and down his length, as she savored that most ancient, promise-filled of motions. Slocum raised his face to her breasts and took a taut nipple into his mouth, causing the girl to shudder all over and stirring her into a renewed round of increased speed.

  He raised her up off the squeaking bed with his own bucking, countering her motions. All too soon, it seemed, they drove close once, twice, and held there, grinding together for a long moment in which neither of them breathed.

  She sagged down on him and he felt her hot breath on his chest, smelled her hair, like apple pie and the long-ago scents of summer hay. He felt her tongue on his chest, and she slid lower, trailing a ragged line of soft kisses all the way down his body. He closed his eyes. It would be a long time before he’d be allowed to sleep, he knew, but he didn’t mind one bit. He ran his fingers through her soft hair and smiled in the dark.

  2

  The sun had not yet risen, but Slocum’s eyes opened, ready for the day. He felt rested enough and eager to be out and about, to stretch his legs, to check on his horse, anything but to lie in bed. He looked at the sleeping girl beside him whose pretty face rested on his arm. He had to slip his arm free, easier said than done, but he managed it with little disruption in her deep breathing.

  Once dressed, he looked again at the young thing for a moment, belly down but with her face visible beneath her short dark hair. Though the morning air in the room was quite chilly, the girl slept soundly, her upper body uncovered, the smooth curves of her shoulders and arms disappearing where they were tucked under the pillow. He tugged the quilt up over her shoulders and felt confident she was the prettiest thing he’d see all day.

  As he left the room and quietly made his way down the hall, he mused that there was nothing in the world so disarming, so beautiful, and perhaps so deceiving as a sleeping woman. All the things that she was when awake—laughing, inquiring, angry, chatty, terse, affable, and a hundred others—were quelled, at least for the time being, by the total relaxation of a deep sleep.

  Despite the fact that both he and the Appaloosa each barely had enough time to rest up and renew their strength, Slocum knew that he had to head northward with all possible haste in order to make the appointment with the train. Even though the mysterious precious cargo belonged to the same man who all but owned the Central Sierra and Pacific Railroad, Slocum doubted the train would be held for him.

  If he missed that train, he would do something he rarely if ever did: He’d be the cause of the ultimate disappointment and tarnish his own reputation at the same time. He didn’t as a rule let people down by not following through with his promises. He’d also lose out on the remaining substantial fee he was set to earn. Plus, he’d owe the money he’d already been paid, which included the amount he had already spent.

  He figured he’d need a healthy week or more to get to Salt Lake City, allowing for the probability of rough weather and necessary stops in towns between. He’d need every bit of that time, and that was all that he had. Still, Slocum felt sure he could do it. He’d have a leisurely breakfast, visit a mercantile to load up with enough trail supplies for the ride north, then head on out.

  The crisp air of the new day—a clear, blue one at that—cut an icy trail from his nose through his lungs and did as much as a potful of Arbuckle’s would to wake a man. For good measure, Slocum pulled in another frigid draught and kicked down the steps of the hotel. The main street of Pearlton was nearly vacant, and what snow that had fallen had drifted into crisp white mounds that looked like the whitecaps of sea waves layering the wide street between boardwalks.

  He guessed that it wouldn’t take but a few hours’ worth of wagons and horses and farmers’ oxen teams plodding on through to churn the pretty frozen waves into smears of mud and muck. But for now, the snow was clean and he was glad to see it. At the far end of the street, he spied the hunched form of a hatless old man. It was the black man who operated the livery where he’d boarded his horse the night before. It looked as if the man was working at clearing away snow from in front of the double doors of the livery.

  Slocum strode toward him. “Hello there.”

  It appeared that the man didn’t hear him. He continued scratching at the snow with a broken wooden shovel. Slocum walked closer. His shadow reached the man’s sight before sound of his approach reached the old man’s ears.

  The man looked up from his task. Slocum noticed with a wince that the old man had a fresh split lip and a bruised eye. He also noted that the old man wasn’t wearing gloves.

  He reached for the shovel. “You all right? What happened to you, fella?”

  “Oh, it’s you.” The old man didn’t look all that pleased to see Slocum.

  “Me, yes. Always has been. Not much I can do to change that, I’m afraid.”

  The old man’s welted features softened. “I guess that’s true, that’s true.” He smiled, wincing as the split lip pained him.

  “Let me help you shovel out these doors, take a breather. And tell me who did this to you.” Slocum didn’t much like people prodding into other folks’ business, but he disliked it even more when an old person, a woman, a child, or a dog or horse got a working over for any reason. Some of them deserved it, no doubt, but most, in his experience, were wronged. And this old man’s beating, from the way he was acting, had all the earmarks of abuse.

  “All right, then. I could do with a minute to catch my breath.
I expect they bruised a rib or two.”

  “They? Who’s they?” said Slocum, just now noticing the trail of large boot prints and the snow in front of the outermost door pushed back enough to allow entrance or exit. It looked as if several people had trudged about in front of the doors before finally working one open enough to squeeze through.

  “Well, let’s see. I was snoozin’, you know, like people do of a night. All snug in my room back of the stable. It’s nice, got a little stove an’ all. Anyway, I was snugged up there, sawin’ wood, when I hear a bangin’ on the door. Now that ain’t unusual, because folks will arrive in town most any time, day or night, and if they are kindly at all, they’ll take care of their burden beasts first thing.”

  Slocum felt an unintended sting in the man’s words. It bothered him that, when he’d arrived in town, he’d not given first thought to his horse, but rather to his own shivering needs.

  “But when I roused myself out of my bed, these fellas kept right on hammering on the door as if I was deaf and they had to make a point.” The old man paused, pointed to a clump of snow Slocum hadn’t yet shoveled, then resumed. “I get to the door, unbar it from the inside—I take the safety of my charges most seriously—”

  Slocum nodded, quelling the urge to smirk at the man’s earnestness. One glance at the man’s horned hands, the horse hair bristling his coveralls and old wool coat, and his easy way with the horses, and no one would have cause to doubt the man’s dedication to his work or the horses in his care.

  “So I push on it and they yank it wide. ’Fore I know it, a big ol’ hand reaches through the gap and snatches my shirtfront, half drags me outside. They commence to whompin’ on me something fierce.” The old man rubbed the back of his head with a bony hand.

  “Did they tell you what they were after?”

  The livery man nodded, looked at Slocum with watery, tired eyes.

  “Well?”

  “Wanted you.”

  “Me?” Slocum stopped shoveling and stood up, his back to the door. He unbuttoned his coat, opened it wide, tucked it behind his Colt’s holster. He scanned the street before him, but saw no one, save for one older woman shuffling along the boardwalk at the other end of the street.

  “What did they look like?”

  “Oh, they was big. Two of ’em. Not so much fat as just plain big boys. They come right in like they own the place, they did. Dragged me into the barn after they knocked me a time or two against the doors.” He rubbed the back of his grayed head again. “Started asking me all sorts of questions.”

  “What questions did they ask?”

  “Oh, they seem to be angling around toward finding out about you.”

  “Me…”

  “Yes sir, uh-huh. They wanna know all about the strangers that might have come in here late in the day yesterday, whose horse belong to who, that sort of thing.”

  This sounded an awful lot like those two big fellows he’d seen the night before, huddled in the cold by the steps of the hotel they must have thought he’d stayed in. But what would they want with him? Could be that Mason had hired them to track him? Surely, the man was still steamed, but judging from the way his little swamp gator of a wife acted, Slocum doubted he was the first, nor the last, to cuckold the man.

  It wouldn’t do to stand around in the open, in the early morning cold, and try to figure out who might be tracking him, and who might want him bad enough to beat up an old hostler.

  He ushered the old man into the stable, where it was warmer. Slocum peeked back out through the opening. “Can you tell me anything else about these men?”

  He felt a little silly ducking for cover after having stood out there, an easy target against the snow. He turned back to the old man, his eyes smarting from the bright light bouncing off the snow. It felt as if they had been standing in the middle of a giant reflecting lamp.

  The old man shook his head. “No, no, they was just big. And angry. I thought for sure my ticket was punched.” Then he snapped his fingers and looked up at Slocum. One corner of his mouth rose. “You know, there is one thing…them boys both, near as I could tell, and mind you, they was busy whompin’ on me, but they both appeared to have orange hair, the color of pumpkin soup, you know?”

  Giant red-haired men? Odd but not impossible. “Both of them?”

  “Yes, sir. If I was a bettin’ man, and I’m not, I’d say they was brothers. Size-wise, they was about evenly matched, and they sounded alike, looked alike, besides the hair, I mean. And they both chewed tobacco like it was going out of style, as I recall. Spittin’ everywhere in here like it was a sickness they was trying to get out of their mouths. Each of them must have jammed in a fresh wad of the stuff twice while they was here.”

  “Did you point out my horse to them?”

  “Didn’t have to, they seemed to know which was yours already. Hell, I don’t know why they bothered me in the first place. They all but answered their own questions.”

  Slocum nodded. They must have seen him ride into town. And that means they must have seen him go into the saloon with Mr. Mulford. A new thought paused him: Is that why they were outside the other hotel? Were they lying in wait for that man and not Slocum? “Listen, old timer, did they say where they were headed?”

  “Uh-huh, said they was headed north. Told me to tell whoever asked after them that they was headed north.”

  Slocum nodded. “You don’t happen to know if they left already, do you?”

  “I do—and they did. Finished off with me about two hours ago. Still dark, naturally, but they didn’t seem to mind. I guess they had horses ready to ride, somewheres else, ’cause they wasn’t boarded here.”

  Slocum leaned the old wooden shovel against the hinged feed box. “Old timer, I wonder if you could do me a favor.”

  “I suppose.” The old man rubbed his purpling jaw. “Long as it don’t involve breakin’ no laws. I’m a straight shooter, you see. No worries, nothing from my past looking to haunt me down. Like to keep it that way.”

  “I understand,” said Slocum, envying the old man such a clean back trail. “Could you have my horse, the Appaloosa there, fed, saddled, and ready to ride in twenty minutes?”

  The old man nodded, already turning to the feed box. “You going after them two madmen, boy?”

  “I have a feeling that if I don’t, something bad will happen. They’ve already given you a beating on my behalf. Might be something worse is in store for someone. If it hasn’t already happened.” He poked his head back out the door, looked up the street, then peered back in. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Right you are, fella.” The old man gave him a salute and a smile.

  A rare breed, thought Slocum as he pinched his collar up around his face. He kept his coat open and draped behind his holster. It wouldn’t do to be dry-gulched here in town. He’d take this strange fight to the trail through the hills north of Pearlton.

  He found a mercantile that had barely opened its door for the day, bought boxes of shells for his Winchester rifle and Colt Navy revolver, a couple of pounds of bacon, two pounds of coffee, a sack of Bull Durham, a half-pound of jerky, and a sack of fresh biscuits the storekeep’s wife had just pulled from the oven. He’d lay in a bait of oats from the livery for the horse.

  He’d nearly forgotten the girl he’d left back in his room, and whose name he was still unaware of, though he had taken to calling her Sweet Thing the night before. She had giggled, seemed to like the weak reference to the dessert she’d offered. He quietly opened the door to his room to find the bed empty, made neat and clean, and his things neatly laid out on it. On the bedside table sat a china cup full of steaming coffee and beside it a thick wedge of cheddar cheese and a hot cinnamon-topped bun. Just the thing, he thought. He looked about the room, but the mysterious front desk girl was nowhere to be seen.

  He’d half expected to see her peering at him, a smirk on her face, from behind the dresser. She was an animated little thing. He grunted in surprise and allowed himself t
o indulge the brief fluttering of a thought of what life with a girl like that would be like, each day holding some quiet surprise, no doubt. He wished her well and envied the young man she’d find to share her curious, pleasing ways with.

  It took him all of five minutes to repack his gear, stopping between wedging his supplies into his saddlebags to sip the coffee and chew the bun and cheese, savoring each mouthful as much as he dared. Given the tolling of warning bells in the back of his brain and in the pit of his gut, chiming alternately without letup, he didn’t dare dally any longer if he wanted to know just what he faced. Then maybe he would have answers instead of a rising stack of questions.

  Saddlebags over one shoulder and Winchester laid in the crook of an arm, Slocum made it down to the hotel lobby without incident. He half feared finding the Sweet Thing waiting there for him, beaming at him and expecting more than he could offer. But no one was manning the front desk, so on the ledger, under his room key, he placed more than enough cash to cover his room charges. Then he closed the big book, and with one last wistful glance at the sumptuous foyer, he stepped out into the cold.

  The old man at the livery, true to his word, had the Appaloosa fed, watered, and saddled. He’d even looped over the horn a sack of feed for the animal. The horse looked much better than it had the day before, and Slocum thought he detected a glint of annoyance in its eyes. He knew the horse well enough that he supposed he could expect a bit of rough treatment for a day or so on the trail, a nipped shoulder or backside, some crowhopping, and balky behavior at poorly chosen moments.

  Slocum tied on his saddlebags, slid his Winchester into its sheath, then turned to the old man.

  “A couple of dollars ought to do it.” The old man looked into the shadows, as if talk of money embarrassed him.